Darkest Knight
by Steel Magnolia
Summary: Wonder Woman and Batman must learn to cope with unexpected emotional complications - before they destroy each other. Rated R for later chapters. Not suitable for all fans.
1. Chapter 1 First Dance

Author Note:  Be warned – this is planned as a rather dark and angst-ridden ship-fic featuring Wonder Woman and Batman.  Of course, the characters may decide differently and this could end up as something else entirely!  

For the purposes of this story, Batman has not yet revealed his secret identity to the JLA.  Some of the events of this story may take place during "JLA: A League of One", "The Hiketeia", and possibly "Kingdom Come".  

I don't own these characters, and I'm not making any money off of this fan-fic (or much from anywhere else), so please don't sue me.  

This is also my first fan-fic, so any feedback is GREATLY appreciated.

*****

Bruce Wayne, billionaire, playboy, and Dark Knight of Gotham stifled a yawn as he waited for his Monet to make an appearance.  The air of the auction house was one of quiet luxury and old money.  Gotham City's wealthiest were present for the annual charity auction.  He suspected most of them were there more for public relations than the goodness of their hearts.  These were people who wanted the world to know what good deeds they did. 

_I suppose Bruce Wayne's one of them,_ he thought cynically.  _At least the gossip at the cocktails and dinner is usually good for a laugh or two._  If he was lucky, he'd manage to be the subject of that gossip.  If he was really lucky he could milk it for a month or so before he had to venture forth again to maintain his playboy reputation.  It amazed him sometimes how much more tiring this sort of thing was than his usual nocturnal activities.

Nightwing was on patrol in Gotham, freeing him to pretend to get drunk on club soda and carouse all night.  He grimaced at the thought, but quickly smoothed his features back into his usual half-smirk.

He shifted in his cushioned chair, fidgeting with ill-disguised impatience.  The elderly banking mogul seated nearby gave him a disapproving look.  Good.

"Item number fifty-three," announced the auctioneer.  "A partial bust of the Amazon queen Hippolyta in marble by unknown artist, circa 1250 BC.  This was found at the excavation of the seventh city of Troy last September and authenticated by Princess Diana, Ambassador of Themyscira, and daughter of Hippolyta herself.  The Themysciran Embassy has graciously donated this very rare find for our auction today.  Princess Diana, would you care to do the honors?"

Murmurs and whispers rippled across the room and intrigued society members craned their necks for a better look.  _What the hell?_  Bruce frowned.  _What does she think she's doing in _my_ city?  Aren't there any charities in New York?_  He suppressed the urge to grind his teeth and tried to make himself look just as excited as everybody else.  Over the heads of the crowd he could see Diana moving toward the stage, graceful as ever.

She was dressed in ankle-length red robes, wound around her body and held at the left shoulder with a golden clasp.  A golden cord snugged the material to her torso and he wondered for a moment how she could dare to use her golden lasso like that.  He finally decided that not even she could wrap herself in the magical rope all day, no matter how honest and pure she seemed to be.  Her bracers glinted like blued steel under the lights, drawing attention to her tautly muscled arms.  Her sable hair was swept up and held in some impossible confection by more golden cord.  As she ascended the stage he could see more gold glinting off the criss-crossing straps of her flat sandals.

_Quite the Amazon princess, _he thought sardonically.  _Giving them the expected.  _He'd only rarely seen her out of her uniform, but he knew she often chose to wear modern clothing.  _On the other hand, both Batman and Bruce Wayne know all about giving the public what they expect to see._

"Thank you," Diana said in her rich contralto.  She looked out over the crowd, reminding herself to make eye contact.  Public speaking was one of the less enjoyable of her ambassadorial duties.

"As you may know, we of Themyscira may not part with the art and culture of our island.  However," she continued, "as this was made of Man's hands, I find it only fitting that it remains part of this culture.  I am most pleased by the craftsmanship, which has stood the test of time almost as well as the subject herself."  

Quiet laughter made her smile as she moved to the column that had been placed center stage.  A linen cloth covered the object, which she removed with a small flourish.

Gasps and applause showed the audience's appreciation.  Bruce had to agree the bust was indeed a work of art.  A beautiful woman's head was half-chiseled out of a slab of rough marble.  He noted with some surprise the resemblance to Diana's own face, although the features were slightly harsher.

Diana acknowledged the applause with a nod.  "Thank you," she said, and gestured to the auctioneer.  She descended the stage to more applause and whispering to sit several rows ahead of Bruce.  Short of standing, he couldn't quite see exactly where she was.

The bidding was brisk and enthusiastic.  Bruce himself bid on the piece, but eventually bowed out in favor of a collector known for keeping his treasures for a few years before selling them to museums.  

He found himself wondering what Diana would think of Bruce Wayne, so different from Batman.  He'd been careful to keep his identity a secret from the rest of the Justice League.  He considered the JLA a necessity born of global dangers, but there had been no real temptation to reveal himself.  He knew that the others, Superman and Wonder Woman in particular, tended to view his methods with a certain self-righteous distaste.

_Unfortunately, we're not all blessed with super strength and the ability to fly, _he thought.  _The rest of us mere mortals have to use the wits that these demi-gods seem to lack._  A slow grin crossed his face.  _She _did_ ignore the warning to stay out of Gotham._

Suddenly Bruce was looking forward to cocktails and dinner.

****

Bruce cradled a glass of club soda in one hand and the blonde wife of one of his competitors in the other.  The woman had been chasing him for months now, and he could maintain their flirty repartee in his sleep.  He allowed himself to admire her cleavage, on abundant display this evening in a stunning green sheath, but kept one eye on the crowd for his target.  

He felt adrenaline coursing through his veins, knowing he risked exposure even by thinking about meeting Diana as Bruce Wayne.  He wondered briefly if he was so jaded that he needed the thrill of deceiving someone who was, if not a friend, at least a colleague.  He decided to view it as a live-fire exercise.

His gaze sharpened when he saw Diana across the room.  The blonde took his new intensity for arousal and pressed her bounty against his arm.

"So, Paris next week?" she said in a throaty voice, thinking an assignation was all but assured.  He shifted his gaze down to her heavily kohled blue eyes.

"Sorry, Marilyn," he smiled, lifting her hand and kissing the tips of her fingers.  "I just hate crowds."  He left her to wonder whether he meant her or Paris and moved across the floor.  People were merely obstacles to be diverted with a handshake here, a careless grin there.  

He smoothed his hand down his suit jacket and smirked when he saw whom Diana was speaking to.  Dominica Parsons was a twice-divorced society matron with more money than sense, and a femi-nazi if he'd ever seen one.  He'd been on her hit list ever since he'd turned down a night at her "cottage" in the Catskills.  _Probably thinks she's found a kindred spirit with Diana being an Amazon.  Boy, is she in for a surprise._

Diana listened politely as long as she could.  She recognized the underlying anger and resentment boiling beneath the woman's polished surface and respected the woman's viewpoint.  _But really, I know many men who are not the "back-biting snakes" that Ms. Parsons makes them out to be._  The woman seemed to be under the impression that Diana shared her rather militant belief of female superiority.

"I have to disagree," she told the woman, "I think that men and women both have excellent qualities to offer this society.  True peace will occur when the leaders of this world discover unity and friendship together, which are not female-specific.  We Amazons have had our own share of civil unrest, and we certainly cannot blame it on the male influence."

"Civil unrest?" a baritone voice interjected.  "I'd sure love to see that.  Scantily clad women in a catfight?  Who wouldn't?"

Diana turned with a frown to the man who stood behind her, assessing him in a glance.  He was tall and solidly built, dressed in a suit that had obviously been custom tailored for his large frame.  Dark hair waved gently over his high forehead, and light blue eyes sparked with intelligence tempered with humor.

"Of course _you_ would, Mr. Wayne," Ms. Parsons all but spat.  

Bruce gave the woman a cheeky grin and decided to add fuel to the fire, "Only if they're all as beautiful as the princess here, of course."

Diana saw the humor in his eyes and realized he was baiting the poor woman.  She raised her chin, conflicted by her instinct to defend and her own annoyance with the prejudiced female.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," she said coolly, choosing the middle ground.

"Princess Diana, meet Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy and sexist pig extraordinaire," Ms. Parsons said.  "Isn't it time to slither home, Bruce?" she added nastily.

Diana decided she'd had enough of the woman's evil tongue.  "Mr. Wayne.  You bid on the Trojan bust this afternoon, did you not?  And that was a beautiful Monet you donated."  She turned to Ms. Parsons and gently excused herself.  "Perhaps I will see you later this evening?"  She laid her hand on Mr. Wayne's arm and allowed him to lead her away.

Bruce traded his soda water for a couple of flutes of champagne.  He didn't plan on drinking his, and didn't think Diana would either, but Bruce Wayne did have appearances to maintain.

"You're welcome," he offered, looking down at her.  

Confusion clouded her face.  "For what?"

"For rescuing you from the clutches of the Black Widow," he said in an ominous voice.  "I always was a sucker for a damsel in distress."  

She glanced back at Ms. Parsons, looking for evidence that she was a meta-human.  He noted her look and laughed.  "I was kidding."

She smiled with amusement at herself.  She had been in Patriarch's world for some time, but still sometimes had difficulty with the male sense of humor.  Her interactions with men were usually of a rather more serious nature.  Perhaps this would be a learning opportunity.

"Champagne?" he offered, holding a flute toward her.

"No, thank you," she demurred.  "I do not drink alcohol while I am performing my duties."

"This is a duty, is it?" he teased.  "I thought it was a party."  He set the glasses onto a passing tray and turned back to her with a smile.  "Well, if I can't ply you with champagne and have my evil way with you, may I at least have this dance?"

Diana hesitated, thinking through the ramifications of dancing with one of America's most notorious bachelors.  The gossip columns would have a field day, especially since she usually gave them so little grist for the mill.  She decided the Themysciran reputation could handle the wagging tongues.  Besides, she hadn't danced at one of these functions in ages.  _Most men seem to feel an Amazon is above such things._

"That sounds lovely," she agreed, pleased with the thought.  Music and dance were important parts of her culture.  She missed the evenings spent with her Sisters drumming the traditional tales.  Themysciran dances were more physical, frequently recounting the deeds of heroines past, but Diana could appreciate the more structured dances of Patriarch's world as well.

He led her onto the dance floor where couples were dancing to a slow jazz tune.  He pulled her into his arms, and she was struck by his sheer size.  Few men in Patriarch's world stood eye to eye with her.  This man topped her height by at least a few inches.  The shoulder she rested her hand on was solid with muscle, but he moved with a lithe grace.  She wondered if he employed one of those exclusive celebrity personal trainers.  There was more to it, though.  _There is intensity to him that he hides well,_ she thought to herself.

He was, of course, a superb dancer.

She was pleased that he did not disturb the companionable silence with small talk.  He seemed to content to hold her loosely as well, with no hint of possessiveness in his grip.  Occasionally their thighs would brush together, but he was careful keep her at a discrete distance.  She wondered with some amusement if _his_ reputation would suffer for it.  She smiled at the whimsical thought.

Bruce wondered why he was surprised that he was enjoying himself.  Diana was and athletic and graceful warrior and sparring partner, why should she be otherwise as a dancer?  _Probably learned as part of her ambassadorial duties,_ he thought.  He caught the quirk of her lips but any comment he might have made was interrupted by the change in music to a lively salsa.

"Up for this?" he asked instead, setting up the standard partner position frame.

"Oh, yes," she replied, her face lighting up with a genuine smile.  She'd learned many of the dances of Patriarch's society, but truly enjoyed the Latin dancing.  Bruce stepped back on the 6th beat and Diana followed in perfect unison.  

Bruce could feel the muscles of her torso working beneath his hand as they performed complicated turns and shines.  They moved together as if they had been partnering for years.  Her grip on his hand was gentle but firm.  He was well aware that she could have crushed the bones of his hand in one careless moment.  Her face was slightly flushed with exertion and the full skirts of her robes swirled around her legs.  

With sudden shock Bruce realized he was half-aroused.  He brutally tamped down the heat in his groin and concentrated instead on enjoying the intricacies of the movements.  He told himself it was a natural reaction to the passionate dance, and chose not to dwell on it further.

Several sets had passed before Diana was aware that she had spent an unseemly amount of time with this one man.  She was ambassador of Themyscira and sole representative of the Amazon race.  She had a duty to "work the crowd" as they called it, not spend her time amusing herself with a man who was probably only looking for an evening's conquest.

"Thank you for the dance," she said, stepping out of his arms with a gentle smile.  "I truly enjoyed myself."

"Of course," he said.  He proffered his arm and led her from the floor.  Glancing around the room, he saw several of the more notorious hens looking their way.  He took her hand in his and held it close to his chest, bending slightly over her.  _Give them the expected,_ he told himself. 

"Any time you're back in Gotham," he purred, giving her his practiced leer.  _That should keep her from pursuing further contact._  He saw a look of annoyance cross her features.  A brief stab of something another man might have called regret stuck in his throat.

"My work rarely bring me to your city," she said, hoping he was not about to spoil the evening with a sexual proposition.  "Batman does not welcome others."  _Stay out of Gotham,_ he'd said to them.  "Perhaps I shall see you later."  She was fairly certain that he would move on to the next attractive female the moment she left.

Bruce heard the dismissal for what it was.  

"Wait!" he blurted out as she turned from him.  He stared at her a moment, shocked by his own impulsiveness.  _I'm the Batman,_ he thought.  _The Batman is never impulsive.  I will not endanger my identity by continuing to consort with Wonder Woman as Bruce Wayne._  

"I really would like to see you again," he said.  He'd _planned_ on giving her another patented Bruce Wayne farewell.  

Diana searched his handsome face for any sign of dissembling.  She had genuinely enjoyed dancing with the man, and suspected that at least part of his notoriety was purposefully cultivated.  On the other hand, she couldn't help but feel she was somehow being deceived.  _Men can be very complicated for all that they seem so simple_.

"Very well," she said finally.  "When?"

He was slightly taken aback at her acquiescence, and then thought furiously, trying to remember the schedule at the Watchtower's monitor station.  "New York, next Saturday?  I could pick you up at the Embassy at seven."  That would give him time to intimidate and/or bribe Nightwing into patrolling for him again.

"Agreed," she said.  "I shall see you then."

Bruce watched as she bowed her head to him and left to speak with the man who had purchased the bust.  _What the hell am I doing?_  

*****


	2. Chapter 2 Date Night

Darkest Knight – Chapter 2

Diana could see the usual throng of people at the steps of the Themysciran Embassy as she descended from the clouds.  It was late Saturday afternoon and she was worn and aching after the Justice League's most recent run-in with Lex Luthor's Injustice Force.  Despite her fatigue she could still feel the thrumming heat of battle.  The last thing she felt like doing was pressing hands with strangers who wished to pry into the most intimate details of her life.

She eased herself down onto the walk leading up to the Embassy, careful of the press of bodies surging toward her.  She drew upon the same strength that had sustained her through the battle and gave the crowd a genuine smile.  She realized that many people looked to her for inspiration and hope, and she would not let them down.  This was, perhaps, one of her most important duties as representative of the Amazon nation.

She moved slowly through the crowd, trying to give each individual a personal word or smile.  Fingers touched her hair, her shoulder, and her bracers.  Some stroked the almost indestructible Themysciran weave of her uniform, made from Arachne's own silk.  A toddler grabbed hold of the golden cord looped at her hip and yanked.  Her mother stifled a cry and reached for her, but pulled back, afraid to touch the Lasso of Truth.

Diana smiled and knelt, gently removing the shining cord from the girl's grasp while her frantic mother hovered.  "All is well," she said.  "My little sister here is too young for the deceptions this ferrets out."  She stroked the babe's cheek, then lifted her back into her mother's arms.  "For such as her it is naught but a pretty thing, warm and comforting."

Diana made her way carefully through the crowd to the Embassy steps.  She paused to wave regally farewell, then pressed her thumbprint to the security lock and entered through the heavy wooden door.  It swung shut with a solid thud behind her.

She walked slowly down the hall, savoring the empty stillness, yet finding it just a bit lonely as well.  The Embassy employed an extremely small domestic staff, all of whom were gone for the weekend.  She looked forward to having some rare time for herself for quiet contemplation.

Her boot heels echoed softly on the marble floor as she entered the Temple.  Here among the statues of her patron gods she shed her uniform and donned a soft robe.  

Diana carefully polished her breastplate with its stylized "WW".  _Much easier than the traditional eagle,_ she thought to herself.  _I suppose the ladies of the Wonder Woman Foundation who asked me to bear their symbol back in 1982 did me as good a deed as I did them._

She brushed off her uniform and hung it on the central stand.  She reattached the breastplate, then polished her boots and set them beneath.  Finally she reverently looped the golden cord on the Girdle.  She paused to inspect her armor, brought from Themyscira but never worn in Patriarch's world.  Her sword and eagle's helm hung quiescent, their lethal purpose at odds with her mission of peace.  

Her earlier uniforms retained their places of honor.  She had discovered that she was taken more seriously if she periodically updated her appearance to reflect modern mores.  She touched the old skirt briefly, smiling in fond memory of her first love, taken before his time so many years before.

She nodded her respect to the gods before leaving the Temple.  At some point this weekend she would come back to sit at their feet and empty herself of thought.  _But not now,_ she thought to herself.  _Now I must go and ready myself for the evening.  I am sure Bruce would prefer the well-groomed Ambassador to the sweat-stained Warrior._

Her bedroom suite was large and reminiscent of Themyscira with its heavy hangings and thick, plush pillows.  The thick bedposts were intricately carved with symbols of Amazon life – the fletching of an arrow, potting wheel, sheaf of wheat, sword, book.

She lay the robe on the bed and entered the bath.  A deep tub in blue tile was set into the floor, almost a small pool.  Diana decided a leisurely soak would have to wait and headed for the shower.  

As she waited for the water to heat she examined herself for any obvious injuries.  With her gods-given gifts she healed very quickly and was resistant to damage, but she could still be hurt.  She had long ago decided it was the gods' way of keeping her humble.  Her ribs were tender below her right breast, but she felt no crepitus there to suggest a fracture.  She had some minor scratches that would heal in a few hours.

_I wonder how Batman does it,_ she wondered idly.  _He must be hurting tonight._  He had taken a direct blast and been thrown across the street into a building.  Diana knew his body armor provided him with some protection, but given the state of his abraded jaw she imagined the suit had not been enough this day.  He seemed so invincible it was easy to forget he had no super powers, no gifts except his keen intellect and iron determination. She would never admit it to the arrogant man, but she admired his warrior spirit.

*****

Bruce stood in the shower, leaning one hand on the tiled wall and letting the hot water sluice the sweat from his aching body.  He tongued his busted lip, tasting blood and feeling the puffiness there.  _Got to get some ice on that soon._  The water stung the abrasions on his jaw, but it washed out any debris so he ignored it.  He raised his face under the spray and opened his mouth to rinse it out, spitting blood until it cleared.

Finally he felt recovered enough to actually wash himself, grimacing when he hit a bad spot.  He shut off the taps and stood for a moment, trying to find the energy to reach for the thick towel Alfred had left for him.  The scent of coffee hit his nose, spurring him to actually open the glass door.  Steam swirled out into the bathroom.

"Bless you, Alfred," he breathed when he laid eyes on the mug lying next to an icepack.  The coffee revived him enough to let him dry off and wind the towel around his waist.  He swiped a hand across the steamy mirror and leaned forward to check out the damage.  His lip was swelling rapidly.  He cursed when he saw the abrasion on his jaw.  _How the hell is Bruce Wayne going to explain that?_  He'd have to lie low a week or so.  _Maybe it's time for Bruce to go on another safari, _he thought to himself.  _At least I don't tend to scar._

Something caught his eye and he looked closer again.  _Well, hell,_ he thought, looking at the gray hair in consternation.  _Damn it.  Oh man, there's another one!_  In fact, there were several strands of gray threading their way through his dark hair.  _Not enough to be visible from across a room, but enough goddam it._  He sighed with a wry grin at his own vanity.  _Well, if George Clooney can go gray, I guess Bruce Wayne can too._

He decided to skip shaving and slapped the icepack on his lower lip.  He walked out to his bedroom, decorated in dark colors.  The heavy draperies were pulled back to let in the waning light of the setting sun over his balcony.  Alfred had laid out khaki slacks, a white dress shirt, and a dark red cashmere sweater on the bed.

"Do you wish to drive or fly to New York this evening, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked as he entered the bedroom with a second mug of coffee.  "I would perhaps suggest flying, in the interest of time."

"Oh hell.  Diana," Bruce groaned. "I'd forgotten all about that."  In truth, it hadn't been very far from his mind all week.  _Guess I got hit harder than I thought._

He'd almost called her a dozen times to play the part of the fickle playboy and cancel.  Once, he'd even once had the phone in hand, but then the Bat Signal had caught his eye through the window and he'd hung up.

Sitting across from Diana this morning at the Watchtower had reminded him that he really didn't need to be courting disaster.  She had been aloof as usual, focused on the business at hand.  _Lucky her._

"I can't go, Alfred," he said, gesturing to his face.  "She's not stupid."

"No, she's not," agreed Alfred.  Bruce scowled at him.  He knew Alfred disagreed with his decision to keep the other Leaguers in the dark about his secret identity.

"Just bring me the phone," he growled.

*****

"Diana?  It's Bruce."  Diana tucked the phone under her ear and smiled slightly.  Now that she was refreshed she was looking forward to the evening.  Perhaps they would go dancing again.

"Yes, Bruce," she replied.

"I'm afraid I can't make it tonight," he said.  "Something came up."

Diana hesitated, sensing the prevarication in his voice.  "I see," she said, hoping that her instincts would prove false.

"I'm sorry I didn't call earlier," he went on.  "I know this is kind of late notice."  He paused, but she did not contradict him.  "I'm really disappointed," he added.  "We had such a great time last week, but I just can't make it to New York tonight."

"Perhaps I could fly to Gotham," she offered, testing him.

"No, no," he said hastily.  "I have your number." _Obviously_, she thought to herself.  "I'll give you a call and we can get together another time," he said.

"I think perhaps it would be best not to," she answered after a moment, disappointed with his obvious falsehood.

"Oh," he said after an awkward silence, "Okay.  If you think so."

"I wish you well, Bruce," she said.  There was a long pause.

"You too, Diana."  A soft click told her he'd broken the connection.  She set the phone carefully back on its charger with a sigh.  _So this is what it feels like._

****

Bruce sat in the Cave and hung up the phone with a scowl.  He could tell she'd seen right through him.  He pictured her hanging up the phone at the Themysciran Embassy.  Was she disappointed?  Did she even care?  What was she wearing?  _The only thing I do know is that she doesn't think much of one Bruce Wayne right now,_ he thought.  _Too bad.  I can't second-guess myself about this._

He wondered briefly why it even bothered him.

"I'm going on patrol, Alfred," he said.

Alfred held his cape and cowl as he slipped into his suit and strapped on the body armor.  _She probably thinks I'm out with another woman,_ he thought to himself. He checked his belt and tools before pulling on his gloves.  _She probably thinks I was just playing with her last weekend.  _He draped his cape over his shoulders._  I was, _he admitted to himself.  _I hope I didn't hurt her feelings._  He snorted.  _She's an Amazon, Bruce.  She's probably adding it to the list of reasons to keep Themyscira a ladies-only club._

"Would you like for me to radio Nightwing that his services will no longer be required this evening?" Alfred asked, startling him out of his self-flagellating reverie.  "I believe he has already started his patrol."  Bruce looked at him a moment, meeting Alfred's supremely bland gaze.

How long had he been standing there?  He reached for his cowl.  He held the mask in his gloved hands, looking down at it.  Blank white eyeslits looked back up at him beneath the perpetual scowl.  He didn't much feel like putting it on.

"Alfred," he began.  He stopped, uncertain what he wanted to say.

Alfred wordlessly handed him the phone and punched the outside line.  He gently took the cowl back and hung it back in its place.

Bruce waited impatiently as the Embassy's answering service took his name and rang Diana.

"Hello?" she said, her voice laden with doubt.  He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt like the Sahara desert.

"Diana, it's… ah… it's Bruce," he said, staring sightlessly at the monitor screens in front of him.

"I know," she said coolly.  "The answering service told me when they called."

"Oh, right."  He cleared his throat again.  _I must be delirious from that blow to the head._  "I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"I am well," she said.

"I wanted to say again I'm sorry that we couldn't go out."  He could see his reflection in the darkened screen.  A middle-aged man in a dark costume with a target on his chest stared back at him.  "Alfred got sick, and I wanted to be here in case he needs anything," he lied.

"I see," she said, skepticism evident in her voice.

"I couldn't let you come to the Manor because it might be contagious," he continued, wincing.  Silence answered him.

"You are not being truthful," she said finally.

"No," he admitted.  More silence.

"Are you going to tell me the true reason you could not come tonight?" she asked.  

_Hell, no._  "No." he said.  He waited, her silence killing him.

"Very well," she said finally.  "I accept your apology."

He found himself sagging into his chair.  He chalked it up to his injuries.  "I'm glad," he said.  "Maybe we could just talk a while.  On the phone."

"Agreed," she replied, and he smiled for the first time in days.

****

"How _do_ you know so much about our history?" he demanded.  He'd pulled off his gloves and sat back in the chair with his boots propped up on the computer station.  They had been arguing about the Constitutional right to bear arms and form a militia.

She laughed a moment.  "I wasn't always the goddess of Truth when I was growing up.  My mother has a scrying glass kept in her chambers.  She uses it from time to time to remind herself why she took the Amazons and left Patriarch's world.

"When I was little I used to sneak in there while she was at arms practice.  Where she saw fear and oppression, I saw new and wonderful things that fascinated me.  I still remember the first time I saw a car.  I thought it was a demon – half-man and half-metallic beast!"  She laughed at the memory of her childish fear.

"Oh, and the first time I saw a plane…  It must have been the early '30s at that point.  They could _fly_!  I was amazed, and determined to duplicate the feat.  My mother found me out when I began hoarding materials to make my own plane.  She was _horrified_.  'If the gods meant Amazons to fly, they would give us the wings of Hermes,' she used to say to me.  I, of course, was insufferable in my youthful stubbornness."  Diana sighed, remembering that first moment of significant discord between them.

"It is ironic, I suppose.  The gods later did give me the wings of Hermes and the gift of flight, but not until many years later.  

"By 1940 I had finished the plane against her wishes.  When Captain Trevor crashed on Themyscira, I knew my opportunity had come to explore Patriarch's world and its seemingly boundless energy and creativity.  My mother said it would be the death of me and tried to keep me from leaving.  In hindsight," she mused, "I know that she was only trying to protect me, but oh, how I resented her for it.  I suppose such is the way it has always been between mothers and daughters."

****

"It was hard," Bruce admitted.  Diana lay curled up on the settee, twirling her hair between her fingers.  "Who was I to try and raise some teenage kid?  I didn't even have my own parents to use as an example.  Then all of a sudden here's this boy whose parents were killed right in front of him.  How could _I_ turn him away?"  She could hear him give a heavy sigh, and a chair squeaked lightly in the background as he shifted.

"I guess I thought money really could buy love," he said.  "Or at least a happy childhood for Dick.  I didn't have a _clue_ what I was getting myself into.  James Gordon tried to warn me.  You know he has a daughter Dick's age, Barbara?

At any rate, after Dick's initial hero-worship wore off things started getting rough.  I tried to keep him disciplined, but in the end it all just kind of fell apart.  Oh, don't get me wrong.  Dick's grown up to be a good man, but sometimes I wish…" his voice trailed off.

"What?" prompted Diana.

"I don't know.  I guess sometimes I wish I could have been a better father to him, you know?"

****

"I'm hungry," Bruce said suddenly.  "Want to get something to eat?"

"I don't understand," Diana said, confusion clouding her face.

"You have a kitchen in that Embassy somewhere?"  he asked.

"Of course."

"Well, I figure I can find mine if I start looking now, so let's go make dinner."

"On the phone?"

"Yeah."

****

"And then you put the tomato slices on last," Diana instructed.

Bruce stood back and looked at it.  "It looks like a rectangular pizza," he judged.

"I suppose it is, in a way," she said.  "At home we would cook this in a big stone oven on a piece of seasoned wood.  I think we could probably just put it on one of these metal sheets.  What temperature, do you suppose?"

"I don't know," Bruce said helplessly.  "Alfred usually cooks for us.  Hey, I've got some cookbooks here."  She could hear him rifling pages.  "It looks like most things are cooked at 350 degrees," he said finally.

"Let's try it," she concurred.

He sat at a small table in the kitchen, as did she.  They ate a flatbread dish from Diana's youth, having decided against hot dogs.  Bruce couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed a meal with a woman.  Diana had been good company.  _Not bad,_ he thought, _for a self-righteous prude raised by a group of isolationist zealots._

"The crust is not quite crispy enough," she concluded, finishing her flatbread.  "Perhaps we should cook it at a higher temperature next time."

He paused, a piece of flatbread halfway to his mouth.  "So there's going to be a next-time?" he asked carefully.  He swallowed hard to get that lump back down in his stomach where it belonged.

"If you would like," she answered cautiously.  _Not that it really matters to me, of course.  _She tensed, waiting for his answer_.  _

"I'd like that."


	3. Chapter 3 The Drive

(Author note:  I've been asked which version of Wonder Woman I'm using.  It's probably painfully obvious that I'm not following any sort of continuity.  I have an ideal of Wonder Woman as the original William Moulton Marston creation combined with the increased powers and depth of character given to her by modern writers.  I'm not going to spend a page here recreating the character, but I hope you get a sense of her as I continue.  Please feel free to e-mail me with specific questions or arguments.

This is the chapter where things take the inevitable turn for the worse.  I feel I have to warn readers again that this story is not going to be for everybody.  Some fans may be offended by where I'm taking their favorite characters.)

*********

Bruce watched from the window as Diana alighted on the front lawn of the estate.  The manor's defenses had picked her up a few minutes before, giving him a chance to finish some last-minute updates with Dick.  He scowled.  Dick had offered to patrol the following week as well.

He shouldn't have called her back, damn it.  It would have been kinder just to drop it last week.He shifted uncomfortably.  What had he been thinking?  The relative anonymity of the phone and the warmth of her voice had lulled him.  Some of the things he had revealed...  _And let's not forget that you spent the morning after thinking about _her_ rather than sleeping._

He watched Diana smooth down her wind-blown hair and snorted.  Like tousled didn't look good on her.  

She had obviously taken his instructions to dress casually to heart, wearing low-cut jeans that hugged her curves and a cotton blouse that ended somewhere around her navel.  They would be standing eye-to-eye with her in those boots.  _Christ, she looks like a teenager._  He ignored the very male part of him that whispered he could never mistake her for anything but a woman.

He moved away from the window when she strode out of sight.  A few moments later the bell rang and he heard Alfred answer the door.  Diana's voice was rich and vibrant but he could hear the undercurrent of nervousness.  

_Good_. She _should_ be nervous.  Bruce was going to fix things.  Permanently.  And he had to do it without raising her suspicions.

He waited until he heard them move into the main foyer before coming down the sweeping staircase.  As Batman he would have swooped down like an avenging angel.  Bruce Wayne paused on the stairs like a debutante.

He saw the welcoming smile light up Diana's face as he approached her.  For a moment he almost wished things could be different.  He could just relax and enjoy spending an uncomplicated evening with a beautiful, intelligent woman.  They would enjoy talking over dinner, then maybe go dancing again.  He might even kiss her goodnight after securing the next date.  

He pushed temptation away and gave her one of Bruce Wayne's best smiles.

"Diana," he said, "you look ravishing."  He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth, brushing the soft skin with his lips, inhaling the scent of her.  He let his lips linger a moment too long for decency.  "Good enough to eat," he murmured, lowering her hand and tucking it in his elbow when she would have pulled away.

"Thank you," she said, but the faint tension around her eyes told him it was merely politeness.  

He ignored the look of mild reproof Alfred gave him over Diana's shoulder and led her down the hallway toward the kitchen suite.  "I'm afraid we'll have to leave the tour of the manor for another time," he said, leaning his head toward her as if to share an intimate secret.  "I've made reservations for us at Avalon."

"Master Bruce," Alfred began,  "Perhaps you would like to dress for dinner.  We have an assortment of eveningwear that I am sure Miss Diana would…"

"That won't be necessary," Bruce interrupted with a careless wave of his hand.  "I'm sure they won't mind."  And maybe the notoriously snobby restaurant would make things uncomfortable.  Uncomfortable enough to help set up his endgame later.  

He ignored the heat in his blood that had been building all week.  It wasn't personal.  He had a job to do.

He sailed into the garage with Diana in tow.  He led her past his fleet of luxury cars, heading for the Boxster, when she suddenly dug in her heels.

"Oh," she breathed.  He turned to see which of his beauties had caught her eye.  The Ferrari?  The Mercedes?  _Ah.  The 1947 Triumph roadster_.

Diana bent over the sleek metallic gray convertible, almost but not quite touching it with her fingertips as she admired the shine of the curving fenders.  She walked slowly around the car, murmuring to it like an old lover.  When she turned to face him he was struck by the radiance of her face.  

"It is more beautiful than I remembered," she said.  

"She's a classic," he agreed.  "From 0 to 50 in 15 seconds.  Top speed around 80mph.  The body was made out of an aluminum alloy, exceptionally lightweight for the time."

"Steve had one," she said softly.  "He loved that car." 

"Want to take her for a spin?" he asked, unable to stop himself.  Diana looked at him, startled.  Just a short drive to get her guard down.  It might make being the bastard that much more effective.  He shrugged and moved to the driver's door, opening it with a flourish.  "Come on, get in," he said.

She looked at the car a moment, longing and temptation obvious on her face.  "I do not know how to drive," she finally admitted.

"What?" he said, blinking in honest shock.

"I never learned," she confessed.

"You've lived in this country for over 60 years, and you've never driven a car," he clarified slowly.

"I lived in the city," she explained, "and Steve always drove whenever the Army sent us somewhere.  Later, I just flew."  A faint blush stained her cheeks.

"Well, it's time to rectify that," he said.  

He thought of four very good reasons not to deviate from the plan as he reached for the intercom.  He stared at the wall and thought of three more while waiting for Alfred to answer.  Okay, so this would be Plan B.  The venue was changing, that was all.  No happily-ever-after here.

"Alfred," he said, "would you mind packing us something for dinner?  We're going for a drive.  Oh, and call Avalon, would you?"

Three hours later Bruce couldn't suppress a grin at the exhilaration on Diana's face.  The wind whipped through her long hair and her eyes gleamed with excitement in the twilight.  _Like sable,_ he thought to himself.  _And sapphires._  He frowned.  Where the hell had _that_ come from?

They drove along the countryside back toward Gotham.  The little farm road was all gentle hills and curves, lined with fields and farmhouses.  Cows dozed or tried to reach the grass alongside the road, stretching their necks through the fences.

Diana had taken to driving as she did most things, with her characteristic grace and coordination.  _I can't believe she's never driven before,_ Bruce mused.  _Maybe she exaggerated a bit._  _You know, just to make herself look a bit better._  _No,_ he decided.  _She wouldn't do that.  I don't think she _can.  He looked away, disturbed by the fact that he liked that about her.

He liked a lot of things about her.  Too bad he was going to fuck it up in about thirty minutes.

*****

Diana glanced over at Bruce.  He was looking out over the darkening fields, his face in profile.  The wind of their passage ruffled his short dark hair and made the collar of his shirt flap against his neck.  A slight frown marred his features, tightening his mouth in a grim line.  She wondered what he was thinking, but decided perhaps it was better not to ask.

_I do not understand him,_ she thought to herself.  He payed her insult and then did something kind.  He was the gusting wind, blowing one way and then that, and just as impossible to predict.

She had enjoyed their drive.  Being in the Triumph had brought back fond memories of her early times in Patriarch's world.  She had been so idealistic and naïve of the ways of men.  _I suppose not much has changed, _she thought with a wry smile.  _It is still difficult to understand the unwritten rules of this society.  Perhaps I have kept myself too separate from the common people since Steve died._

She had been alone for so long, drifting with the winds between Themyscira and Patriarch's world.  She was no longer the naïve princess who thought she could single-handedly save the world from evil.  And yet she looked at the millennia of her mother's rule and wondered how she would ever gain enough wisdom to lead her sisters when it was her mother's fortune to fall in battle.

She had been tempted to share these feelings with Bruce, but something about him made her hesitate.  Perhaps it was her Themysciran heritage of betrayal at the hands of man.  Perhaps it was his inconstant demeanor.  She sensed he was hiding something from her.

Since the auction Bruce had proven himself more intelligent than he first appeared.  Their conversations had revealed a surprising depth and breadth to his knowledge.  She wondered why he chose to present himself to the world as he did.  The man who had taught her to drive tonight was much more fascinating.  And attractive.

Diana had found herself watching his lips as they talked.  It had been a long time since she had wondered what a man's mouth would feel like against hers.  Not since Steve.  A pang of distant sadness was tempered by happier memories of her first love.  

Steve Trevor had been the first man she had ever seen in the flesh.  Handsome, valiant, and true, he had captured her heart and taught her that there was more to men than betrayal, lust, and breeding.  She still treasured every moment she had been able to spend with him.  The only thing that marred his memory was the fact that she had deceived him for so long.  She had not trusted him with her true identity until the bitter end, and it had cost them precious time together.  Since then she had applied herself to find the spirit of truth, not just the words.

Which was the true Bruce Wayne?  The man who had lied to her last week and took liberties with her person, or the witty, fascinating man who had accompanied her this evening?

Upon leaving the grounds of his stately manor, Bruce had driven them out of the city until they reached the back roads.  Then he had displayed incredible patience and good humor while instructing her on the myriad aspects of operating the vehicle safely.  

Once she felt in control of the car he had guided her north of the city to a small beach.  Diana had enjoyed the sound of the breaking waves and the feel of sand under her bare feet.  She had offered to bear the wicker basket that Alfred had packed, but Bruce had insisted on carrying it despite her obviously superior strength.  Men and their egos.

They had eaten their repast on a convenient piece of driftwood.  The simple meal of breads, fruits, and cheeses reminded Diana of home, prompting her to reminisce about Themyscira.  In return he had shared some amusing stories of his childhood.  

It was obvious that he cherished the memories of his parents.  His voice had been expressive, reminding her of their conversation the previous week.  He had been surprisingly easy to talk to on the phone, which she normally abhorred.  She had found herself sharing memories that she had not confronted in decades.  She suspected that he had revealed rather more than he'd intended as well.  Perhaps that explained his odd behavior.

"Turn here," Bruce said, breaking her contemplation.  She eased the Triumph onto a small dirt road that led up a hill.  Tall dark trees closed in on either side, blocking the night sky.  She could see from the state of the road that it had not been traveled in months.  "Private property," he said in response to her questioning look.  "Mine."

The road crested the hill into a small clearing.  Diana gently braked the car to a stop.  "Oh my," she said softly, looking out the front windscreen.

They overlooked Gotham City, which sparkled with a million points of light stretching across the horizon.  Stars blinked like pale imitations in the black sky while the bulbous moon hung low on the horizon.  Diana smiled in pure pleasure.  She had seen countless cities from the night sky, but this was different.  She wasn't flying to or from some crisis, tired and aching for her bed.  She was enjoying the car, the drive, the gentle breeze.  _The company,_ she admitted to herself.

She looked at Bruce, wanting to share this moment with him.  He was staring out the windscreen with an inscrutable look.

"Is it not beautiful?" she said.  "Like stardust cast upon the ocean."

"Yes," he agreed, finally looking at her.  She waited a moment, but he did not speak further and turned back to the view.

They sat for a while, watching the distant city lights.  Diana was acutely aware of the man beside her.  She could almost smell the heat of his male body.  Her nostrils flared.  No cologne, no aftershave.  Bruce shifted restlessly in his seat.

"Christ but you need a keeper, Diana," he said roughly.  "Don't you have any survival instincts at all?"

"I beg your pardon," she said, sitting upright in her seat.  Offense stiffened her shoulders and lifted her chin.  "I do not understand."

"Even a fifteen year-old would understand," he growled, reaching for her.  She withdrew reflexively at his sudden movement.

She watched in fascination as his hand paused, then reached out more gently to stroke her dark hair.  The heat of his hand seared her flesh through the thin cotton of her blouse, the backs of his fingers blazing a trail of fire where her hair fell over her breast.  

_I recognize this.  He wishes to kiss me._  Her heart began to pound in her breast as if in battle.  She wanted to kiss him as well.  She wanted to feel that firm mouth against her own.  Feel the heat of his breath on her lips, not her hand.

Bruce snaked his fingers through her hair and pulled her gently toward him.  Diana went willingly, held by his dark gaze.  She would have laid her lips on his but he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.  He murmured something intelligible and slid his hand deeper into her hair, cupping the back of her head.  When he lifted his face his hot gaze ignited a fire deep in her belly.

He brushed his mouth softly over hers.  His warm breath mingled with hers as he lingered, exploring the curve of her lips.  Her breath came faster as his mouth became more hungry and insistent, rubbing across her lips in invitation.  Diana touched his jaw and melted against him, meeting him with a hunger of her own.

He groaned deep in his throat when her lips parted beneath his, and his hand tightened in her hair, pulling her closer as his other hand cupped her cheek.  He took her mouth, nipping at her before delving deep inside.  

The heat pouring through her body overwhelmed Diana.  It speared from her mouth to her breasts and loins like a thunderbolt from Olympus itself.  Steve had been a kind and gentle man with a gentle touch.  He had never kissed her with such need that it was a siren's song in her blood.  

Bruce devoured her, holding her still for his pursuit as he took her mouth with deepening strokes.  She gasped against his mouth and clutched at the fabric of his shirt, feeling his hard chest beneath.  She found herself arching toward him, seeking something more.  Her body felt hot and heavy and restless, and she couldn't catch her breath with the heat of him so close.  

She pulled her mouth from his, breathing heavily.  He ran his thumb across her swollen lips before he turned her face and raked his teeth along her jaw.  Sparks of pleasure jumped through her as his fingertips caressed her lips and his mouth opened against her neck.  She ran her hands over his shoulders, delighting in the firm muscle there and trying to pull his body closer.

*****

Diana's touch on the bare skin of his shoulder forced Bruce to his senses.  He snatched her hand from inside his shirt.  Two inches more and he would have had to explain a few things. He caught her mouth in a hard kiss to buy himself some time.  His arousal was painfully hard and insistent, but he had a job to do. _ And this was _not _in the plan._

The feel of her soft mouth under his threatened to suck him back under.  He couldn't keep from indulging himself one last moment, taking her mouth as he longed to bury himself in her body.  He felt her moan and melt beneath him and a stab of purely male satisfaction brought him to the edge of his self-control.

She was everything he couldn't be – pure, honest, and open.  She belonged in the light that cast the very shadows he dwelled in.

He's always respected her as a warrior.  Now he wanted her as a woman.

Gathering his will, he pushed her away slightly so that he could see her face.  Her eyes were dark and heavy-lidded with arousal, her lips swollen and parted.

"I have condoms and a blanket in the trunk," he told her.

"What?" she said.

"Condoms and a blanket.  You know, safe sex?"  He let the bastard in him rake her with a cold smile.  "Unless Amazons have other ways that you'd like to teach me."

"I don't understand," she said, confusion beginning to overshadow arousal on her face.

"What, do Amazons call it something else?" he pressed.  "You know.  Intercourse.  Sex.  Making the two-backed monster.  Doing it.  Humping."  He watched her stiffen in the light of the moon.  "Fucking," he added for good measure.  

Her body was rigid.  He pulled at her hand but she didn't move.  "Come on, Diana," he said coaxingly.  "We had a good time tonight, didn't we?  This will be good too.  You know it would be so good between us."  He lowered his voice.  "I know what you need.  I'll make it so good for you."

She stared at him with an unreadable expression.  He pulled at her again, harder and more insistent, and he thought she wavered.  He pressed her hand against his erection. "You were trying to crawl in my lap just a moment ago.  You can't tell me you don't want this."  The feel of her hand, even unwilling, was enough to roughen his voice.  "What did you think you were looking for?"

Diana snatched her hand from under his with narrowed eyes and pushed him away, hard enough that he slammed against the passenger door.

"I do not want this," Diana said.  He could hear the undercurrent of hurt in her voice.  _Good_.

"What?" he demanded.  "I thought you were all about truth and honesty.  I'm just trying to be honest with you here.  What did you think tonight was all about?"

"I thought you wanted to spend time with me," she said.

"I do, Diana.  I like being with you," Bruce said, ignoring the truth of his words.  "But it's a two-way street.  You like talking, so we talked.  Now it's my turn."

"I like kissing you," she admitted, "but I do not want to have intercourse with you.  Why can we not just kiss?" she asked, moving closer to him.

_Endgame_.  It was time to fix things permanently, with no chance for reconciliation.

 "Teasing bitch," he growled.  Quick as a snake he shot his hand out and buried it in the collar of her blouse.  He pulled her to him and crushed her mouth under his in an angry and painful kiss.  Steeling himself, he didn't let go of her shirt when she pulled back.

Superstrength met iron will and the blouse lost.  He felt it give and pulled, managing to keep hold of one side of her shirt as the buttons popped from the strain.  He didn't let go even when she sat back, half stripping the blouse from her bare torso.  

Her body was smooth sculpted marble in the moonlight.  Heat slammed into him in response.

She caught his wrist in her hand, grinding the bones together painfully.  To his surprise her face was twisted with both anger and hot desire.  He could see the mark of arousal on her breasts.  The heat in his groin blazed into an inferno, making him groan in response. He felt his lips pull back in a savage grin.

"You like it rough?" he said hoarsely.  "I can do rough.  Just tell me how bad you want it."

He used his words like a splash of cold water and she withdrew in shock.  He didn't think she'd even noticed that he'd let go of her shirt as she flew off the seat to hover over the car.

"I do not wish this," she said.  She looked down at him, and the shame on her face made him want to reach for her.  He kept his hands to himself and his mouth firmly shut.

"Bruce," she began, settling back down to stand next to the driver's door, "I…"

Behind her a column of flame erupted into the night sky above the city.  The rumble of the explosion reached them moments later.

"The docks," he said, but she had already taken flight.  He saw her tie the remnants of her blouse beneath her breasts, then she streaked away.  He gave her twenty seconds to get out of hearing range before he pulled out his phone.

"I'm on the ridge," he told Alfred.  "Send the Batwing."


	4. Chapter 4 The Demon's Daughter

Chapter 4 – The Demon's Daughter  
  
  
Diana flew through the night sky over Gotham City, the chill of her passage cooling her heated blood. The warrior put Bruce Wayne firmly from her mind and focused on the task at hand. There would be time for humiliation and self-recriminations later.  
  
Ahead of her the burning remains of a large freighter sent columns of flame leaping into the air. Diana quickly scanned the deck for survivors, but found only burning wreckage. She could hear sirens in the distance. She landed and listened at the hatch for any signs of life before tearing it off its hinges. She flattened herself out of the way as a backdraft of flame burst through the doorway with the influx of oxygen.  
  
Mindful of the fact that her casual clothing was not as flame-resistant as her uniform she flew carefully into the freighter. She searched rapidly and systematically through the ship, but found neither victims nor survivors.  
  
The freighter was well and truly burning within so she punched out a small hole for her egress. She brushed absently at the soot covering her skin and clothing as she flew along the hull, checking for any breaches. The freighter rode high in the water, and she breathed a prayer of thanks to the gods that it appeared to be empty. If the fire could be controlled, perhaps the ship would be salvageable. She had fair knowledge of structural engineering, and the damage done to the ship seemed rather mild for the explosion that had rocked the night sky.  
  
Sirens and helicopters sounded faintly in the distance as the Gotham Port Authority responded to the fire. Diana looked around, but the freighter did not appear to be moored close enough to any other ship to pose a danger. She settled herself on the docks to await the fire fighters and offer her assistance.  
  
"What is this?" an accented soprano voice demanded. "You are not the Batman." A young woman stepped from the shadows. A mane of dark hair swirled around her exotic face. Bronzed skin was set off by white leather that hugged her supple body. Dark eyes flashed with irritation as she studied Diana with a critical eye.  
  
"No, I am not Batman," Diana agreed. "Are you injured?"  
  
"Of course not," the woman said with a toss of her thick hair. "You may leave now."  
  
"I think not," the Amazon replied. "Did you have something to do with this fire?"  
  
"This is none of your concern. You must leave now, before he arrives."  
  
"None of my concern!" Diana cried, incredulous. "A ship exploding in the Gotham Harbor is most definitely my concern. Who are you?" she demanded. She gauged the distance between them and knew that she could safely neutralize the woman before she could draw a hidden weapon.  
  
"My darling Talia," a male voice spoke. "Do you not recognize the Princess of Themyscira?" Diana looked up to see a man leaning half-out of a sleek black helicopter, an RAH-66 Comanche prototype if she remembered her latest military weapons update correctly. She wondered briefly how he had acquired access to the Army's secret stealth helicopter.   
  
The man himself seemed almost out of place on the modern aircraft. A loose saffron shirt was open to his trim waist, whipping in the wind beneath the rotors. A sheathed scimitar was thrust through his wide belt. A receding hairline was streaked by white at the temples.  
  
*****  
  
Batman dropped silently from the Batwing, which sped away in stealth mode to its pre-designated landing site. He triggered the struts in his cape, transforming it into a glider that carried him gently to the rooftops below. The telescoping struts disappeared and the cape swirled heavily around him. He moved softly to the vantage point where Nightwing crouched. He could hear a helicopter approaching rapidly.  
  
"What took you so long?" Nightwing grumbled good-naturedly.  
  
"What's the situation?" Batman's tone discouraged any teasing comments.  
  
"Wonder Woman just finished a sweep of the freighter and is on the far side," Nightwing answered. "It doesn't look like she found anybody, but I just got here myself." Batman shot him a look. "Hey," Nightwing protested. "I was at a robbery at Fifth and Lexington when I saw the explosion. Give me a break."  
  
Batman scowled as he watched Diana fly around the bow of the ship, obviously inspecting it for damage. Her skin and clothing were darkened, he presumed by soot. As he watched she brushed at her clothing and landed on the docks.  
  
His lips tightened with he saw her torn shirt. The memory of her breasts in the moonlight and the way he had mauled her haunted him. Fortunately, Nightwing remained wisely silent. Batman had unlimbered his grapple when a feminine voice cut through the night air.  
  
"What is this? You are not the Batman." His gut clenched in recognition. _Great. What a wonderful way to end an evening._ He glanced over at Nightwing, who already on the comm with Oracle.  
  
"No, I am not Batman," he heard Diana say. "Are you injured?"  
  
"Of course not." He could almost feel the heat of the desert sands in her voice. "You may leave now."  
  
"I think not," Diana said. Batman could hear the dawning suspicion in her voice. "Did you have something to do with this fire?"   
  
He braced his boot on the edge of the rooftop and looked down at the two women.   
  
"This is none of your concern. You must leave now, before he arrives." Talia was dressed in skin-tight white leathers. It was an unusual color choice for her. Diana towered over the younger woman.  
  
"None of my concern!" Diana cried. "A ship exploding in the Gotham Harbor is most definitely my concern. Who are you?" she demanded.   
  
"My darling Talia," a male voice spoke, and Batman's blood ran cold. "Do you not recognize the Princess of Themyscira?"  
  
"Ra's Al Ghul," Batman said in a voice colder than Victor Freeze.   
  
His nemesis crouched in the cabin door of the chopper, bracing himself with one leg on the skid. _Very Errol Flynn, _Batman thought. _Probably knew him_. A sniper knelt beside him with his weapon trained on Diana. A second larger helicopter swept around the scene.  
  
"Detective," Ra's smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "So kind of you to join us." Men in black rappelled out of the second chopper and fanned out as Ra's threw a rope ladder overboard. "You'll forgive me if our conversation is brief. I am merely here to collect my wayward daughter."  
  
"Father, no," Talia protested. "Not yet! This is all wrong. This isn't the way it was supposed to happen!"  
  
"You will abide by my wishes in this matter," Ra's ordered. "I am your father, and I know what is best for you."  
  
"You yourself chose the Dark Knight to be my mate!" Talia cried.  
  
"And I was mistaken," Ra's said in a quelling voice. "The Detective is too righteous, too pious for the necessary tasks that lie ahead if we are to create a brave new world. Now come, child."  
  
"No," Talia defied her father. "He could yet prove worthy." She turned and pointed her weapon at Diana. "This is all your fault! If you hadn't been here the Batman would have investigated the explosion."  
  
_Dammit_. Bruce fired the grapple at a nearby crane and launched himself from the rooftop even as Talia drew a weapon and opened fire. Bullets whined and he heard metal on metal as Diana deflected them with her bracers. He arced down and landed in a crouch next to the Amazon.  
  
"Get out of here, Princess," he snarled at Diana in _sotto_ voice. "This is my city."  
  
"A warrior does not turn from battle," she replied. Any further comment was lost as Ra's signaled his men, who opened fire.  
  
He saw Diana allow her reflexes to take over, blurred movements deflecting the bullets as she leapt toward the nearest man. She crushed the barrel of his weapon in her grip and threw him into the water. The next man fell beneath her fists even as she was attacked by two more. She pivoted on her left foot and struck out with a swift back kick. Her low-heeled boot stuck the man in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of him. She took out the other with a savage uppercut followed by a solid left hook. She was magnificent.  
  
Batman used his cape to distract the gunmen and lobbed a couple of flash-bangs at them to obscure their field of vision. The grenades went off with a blinding light and a thunderous boom. Irritating smoke poured out and he was careful to breathe through the nose filters as he went for Talia. She had covered her nose and mouth with one hand and was making her way out of the cloud, coughing. She was her father's daughter, though, and held her automatic weapon at the ready.  
  
He caught her in a steely grip and hit the bundle of nerves at her shoulder, causing her arm to go numb and weak. Cursing, she dropped the gun and he kicked it deeper into the smoke. Wrapping his arm around her waist he carried her bodily from the cloud. Dark hair swirled around his face as she struggled. Her white leather clothing made it difficult for him to keep his grip on her small, lithe form.  
  
"Did you blow the ship?" he growled in her ear.  
  
"Yes," she said defiantly. She turned her head to look up at him through the curtain of her hair. "I knew you would come."  
  
"Was there anybody onboard?" he asked.   
  
"Of course not," she said. "I am not a monster."  
  
"There's better ways to get hold of me," he told her. "You could have killed somebody."  
  
"But I did not," she said. "And now we are together. I have something for you, my love."  
  
"Talia!" he heard her father cry. "Where is my daughter?"  
  
"Too bad he can't show that kind of concern for the rest of humanity," Batman said grimly.  
  
"Join with me, and together we will temper his harsh rule and create a new world for our children," Talia pleaded. Batman did his best to ignore the heated promise in her eyes.  
  
"I don't think so," he ground out.  
  
"Batman, are you harmed?" Diana asked as he dragged Talia into the clear air. Men lay groaning on the ground around her.  
  
"Where's Ra's?" he demanded.  
  
"Behind you, Detective," came the cold answer. Cold steel brushed his cheek.  
  
*****  
  
"Release my daughter," Ra's Al Ghul commanded. "Immediately." He stood behind Batman, scimitar drawn, the blade kissing her teammate's neck. Smoke swirled and eddied around him like living fog. He did not seem to notice its effects.  
  
"She committed arson," Batman replied. "I'm taking her into custody."  
  
"The laws of common men do not apply to such as you and I," Ra's said. "You know this to be true, else you would bear a badge instead of a cape and cowl."  
  
Diana wished absently for her golden lasso. A length of cable lying nearby would have to do. With a blur of speed she snatched it from the ground and flicked the end toward Ra's, hoping to foul the blade.  
  
With preternatural speed Ra's swiveled and the cable parted as if by magic. Talia shifted in the Batman's grip and Diana saw him stumble. The young female reached for something at her belt.  
  
"Batman!" Diana cried warning as the woman raised a pouch. She caught the woman in a flying tackle, carrying both of them to the ground as Talia stumbled over Batman. Dust flew from the pouch at the impact, settling in a cloud around the combatants. Diana inhaled the fine powder and found herself wracked by spasms of coughing. Colors shifted and blurred around her.  
  
"What have you done, daughter?" Ra's demanded, but did not give her time to answer before grasping her upper arm and pulling her with him. Through streaming eyes Diana saw the Batman also incapacitated by fits of coughing. Talia's knees buckled and Ra's swung her up into his arms. He gestured to his remaining men, who carried their fallen brethren to the waiting helicopter.  
  
Diana struggled to her feet and staggered toward the aircraft. Her limbs would not obey her commands and she was unsteady as a newborn foal. She looked back and saw Nightwing land and kneel beside Batman, who was also trying to rise to his feet. She had to reach that helicopter.  
  
Ra's hooked an arm through the rope ladder and stepped onto it, holding his daughter in one arm. Talia lifted her head weakly and Diana's acute hearing picked up the faint sound of her voice over the whine of the engines as the helicopter lifted them into the night sky.   
  
"_Deepest heart seek your mate, Joined by fire and bound by Fate; Your harsh desires you cannot fight, Unleash'd, undone, my Darkest Knight!"_  
  
Diana tried to take off after the aircraft, but the world tilted around her and she almost slammed into the rooftop. The warrior in her wanted to snarl in frustration as her foe sped away while she remained earth-bound.  
  
"Come on," shouted Nightwing. "It's time to go." The sirens were close. Diana was not accustomed to fleeing the presence of law enforcement. It went against her grain, but she knew that Batman and his brethren worked differently.  
  
She stumbled toward the two men as Nightwing gathered up Talia's weapon and stowed it somewhere in Batman's cape. Police cars and fire engines squealed to a stop. Policemen leveled their weapons at the trio over the cover of their car doors and shouted at them to halt. Diana, most certainly not accustomed to this situation, hesitated and wondered if she should identify herself.  
  
"Let's go, Huntress!" Nightwing called out, reaching for her arm. She felt him clip something surreptitiously to her belt. "There's nobody onboard," he shouted at the firemen running for the freighter. A double "pop" made her flinch reflexively in reaction, and then she was pulled upward with Nightwing and Batman.  
  
She looked up to see the Batwing overhead. The three of them were tethered to its underside with two grappling hooks, already a hundred feet above the rooftops. The rush of air seemed to help clear her senses, and the world began to steady around her. Colors began to return to their normal hue.  
  
A hatch opened in the bottom of the aircraft at some unknown signal, and she was recovered enough to wrap her arms around both men and assist their ascent inside. It was cramped, and they all had to stoop a bit. Batman pushed her arm away as soon as their feet touched the floor. Nightwing merely gave her a rather cheeky grin as she released him, and pulled the D-ring off her belt.  
  
"Thank you," she said.  
  
"Anything for a beautiful woman," he replied. His smile dimmed as he looked over her shoulder. "I'll go take the controls," he offered.  
  
"Get us out of the city," a voice growled immediately behind her.  
  
She turned to find Batman looming over her. Well, looming more in appearance than in actuality as he only topped her by a few inches and neither of them could stand straight. She had never been particularly impressed by his attempts at intimidation. She admired his skills as a warrior and his intense will, but his methods had always struck her as a bit underhanded. She preferred the honesty of open battle.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" he demanded. His voice was low and harsh.  
  
"I was responding to an obvious emergency," she answered calmly.  
  
"You're in my city," he said. "You will respect my wishes. Gotham is _mine_."  
  
"I respect your loyalty," she said, "but you do not own Gotham City. It belongs to its citizens, and their duly elected officials."  
  
"The city officials can't protect the people on the street," he said savagely. "I can. I control the streets as long as the bad guys think that I can't be beaten. The minute they see other so-called heroes around, they begin to wonder if the old Bat can't hack it anymore. Your being here makes my job harder."  
  
"What about Nightwing," she countered, gesturing toward the cockpit. "Robin? Batgirl? Huntress?"  
  
"The public sees them as extensions of the Batman. _Wonder Woman_," he continued, "is not part of the deal."  
  
"I am sorry if you feel my presence here has done you harm," she said. "That was never my intention. Hopefully my lack of uniform and Nightwing's quick thinking will cover my identity," she said coolly.  
  
She glanced out the window to see city lights disappearing beneath them as they reached the outskirts of Gotham. They had made good time from the docks. By her reckoning the Batwing could possibly rival her intra-atmosphere speed.  
  
The aircraft slowed and began to hover above the trees.  
  
Batman raked her with his gaze. She flushed, wondering what he must think of her disarray. "Are you hurt?" he asked grudgingly.   
  
"No," she said.  
  
He punched a button and the bottom hatch slid open with a faint whoosh behind her. He said nothing, but she could read the unspoken words in the harsh planes of his grim visage.  
  
Silently she lifted her feet off the floor, hovering eye to eye with him a moment before slipping gently out the hatch. It closed with a seemingly impatient hiss as soon as she passed through. She could see Nightwing watching her out the cockpit window as she dropped twenty feet, then the thrusters kicked in and the Batwing roared away.  
  
She was left in silence, hovering above the trees in her torn clothing, covered in soot. She felt so very cold.  
  
***** 


	5. Chapter 5 Insomnia

Darkest Knight – Chapter 5 – Insomnia

Batman watched on the Watchtower's internal monitor as Wonder Woman stepped off the teleporter from India.  She was covered with dust and dirt from recovery efforts after an earthquake had devastated a rural village in the subcontinent.  He frowned as she seemed to slump slightly before straightening and moving out of the camera's field.  Was she injured?  He had the Watchtower's computer run a diagnostic on her.  Everything was within normal parameters for her physiology.

He tapped in the monitor sequence to follow her most likely path after leaving the teleportation room.  His frown deepened.  She was definitely moving more slowly than her usual long-legged purposeful stride.  He didn't care what the diagnostic said.  He needed to see for himself.

He set the computers to Raynor's ID and left the Womb.  He timed his movements so that he intersected with Diana's path after she had passed the lounge.  He didn't want Raynor involved in this.

"Princess," he said in greeting as she walked toward him.  He saw a guarded look cross her expressive face.

"Good evening, Batman," she said.

"I have the mass spectrometer results on that powder," he told her, examining her from behind the anonymity of his mask and lenses.  She looked worn and fairly dirty, but he could see no overt signs of injury.  He relaxed imperceptibly.  "It was a combination of herbs, ground semi-precious stones, and a substance chemically similar to dimethyltryptamine, which is a short-acting hallucinogen found in the seeds of certain South American plants."

"That would explain the disorientation it caused," Diana mused.  "Why would she carry such a thing?"

"I don't know," he said, "but it shouldn't have any long-term effects."

"Then I suppose it remains a mystery."

"For now," he said.  She moved past him toward her quarters.  He imagined he could feel the heat of her body through his armor.  His nostrils flared under his mask at the sandalwood scent beneath the odor of dirt.  Suddenly he wasn't ready to let her leave.  

"Are you alright, Princess?" he found himself asking.  She paused and he thought she might have sighed.

"I am well," she said.  "Why do you ask?"

"You seem… tired," he said.

"I suppose I am," she said.  "It has been a long day."

"Maybe you should stay here instead of the Embassy tonight," he suggested.  "That way you won't be disturbed."  He was already mentally bypassing the monitor privacy controls to set up a feed from her quarters.  Just to be sure she was all right.

"Perhaps you are right," she said.  "A change of scenery might be good."

*****

Diana frowned and rolled onto her side in bed, looking at the clock.  _3 a.m._  She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to cleanse her mind of the thoughts that plagued her.  Insomnia was becoming a rather annoying habit.  Eight nights she had spent tossing and turning in her bed at the Embassy.  Eight nights of reliving every word exchanged, every turn of phrase, every nuance of expression.  How could she have mistaken Bruce Wayne's character so badly?

How could she still desire the heat of his touch?

Diana sighed again and rolled onto her back.  Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll.  Diana knew her reflexes were dulled and her judgment impaired.  She had lived longer than Patriarch's World suspected, and had never felt the progress of time so keenly as in the last week.  Every moment she lay in bed was an eternity.  _Perhaps this is what the Christians' Purgatory is like_, she thought.  _Unable to move on, yet unable to go back._

She opened her eyes and stared at the metallic ceiling of her quarters in the Watchtower.  Sadly it appeared that a mere change in scenery would not be enough to break this new and unwanted habit.

"You were trying to crawl in my lap just a moment ago.  You can't tell me you don't want this.  What did you think you were looking for?"

The words echoed through her mind, twisted and distorted by her embarrassment.  She flushed in the dark, remembering the fullness of him beneath her hand.  Surely she must have wanted that.  How else could she explain his being able to force her hand there?  She was a hundred times stronger than he.

"Teasing bitch."

She put her hands over her face, trying to hide from the memory.  What he must think of her, telling him "no" and yet offering herself to kiss him?  She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.  What kind of a shameless wanton was she to have done those things?  Even now, full of humiliation and regret, the memory of his kisses burned in her breast.

"You like it rough?  I can do rough.  Just tell me how bad you want it."

Her heart pounded and she twisted in her sheets, the truth holding her in its relentless grip.  She _had_ wanted it.  She had wanted him.  

She still did.

She knew about the lust between men and women.  Her mother had been both open and explicit about the lure and the peril of that seductive heat.  Diana herself was no stranger to the heat of the flesh.  She had both loved and desired Steve Trevor, although she been able to express only the love of her heart, not her body, before he had died.  Even so, she did not remember desire being this intense and overwhelming, intruding upon every quiet moment to rend her with its burning talons.

Her Themysciran Sisters would have scoffed at her internal dilemma.  Certainly the Amazons had not remained chaste since their withdrawal from the world of men.  Warriors either formed relationships with others on the island, or left to pursue their own desires.  Those who left frequently returned with child, daughters to replace the Amazons who fell in battle against the dark gods.  

Many of her Sisters would have urged to her take the man will he or nil he and be done with it.  Some might have even respected Bruce for his attempt to force a more powerful opponent to his hand.  Others would have derided him for his stupidity.  What hope had he against any Amazon, let alone Diana, gifted by the gods?

Diana had lived too long in Patriarch's World, however, and knew the insult he had paid her with his actions.  How could she have misjudged him so badly?  She had felt he was hiding something, but every instinct had told her that she could trust him.  How could she have been so wrong?  How could he have hidden such from her, Diana, who had been the goddess of Truth?

_"Christ but you need a keeper, Diana.  Don't you have any survival instincts at all?"_

She frowned and rolled onto her back.  Where had that come from?  Why say such a thing?  She remembered the exasperation in his voice.  His words and the tone of his voice had confused her at the time.  In retrospect it almost seemed like a prophetic warning.

She remembered his humor and intelligence.  He had been so patient with her, teaching her to drive the Triumph.  He had carried their picnic basket despite her obviously superior strength.  He had held her with discretion and respect as they danced.  He had called her back to check on her and spoken with her for hours after breaking off their date.  He had admitted that he lied to her.

Were these the actions of the same man who had threatened her on that dark bluff?  Diana sat up straight in bed.  She thought not.  Either he had dissembled and played her for a fool the entire time, indicating some dark ulterior motive, or his actions on the bluff were false.  If his intent had been to lure her into a false sense of security, why would he have foiled his own work with such an overt act of hostility?  No.  Diana felt her doubts and self-recriminations melt away.  She had not misjudged him.  Her perception of his actions that night had been clouded by her own feelings.

Given this paradigm shift, what did that tell her about his actions in the car?  Obviously he had intended to drive her away.  Diana scowled in the darkness.  She disliked being manipulated.  If he did not care for her company, why did he not merely say so?  Even his lies on the phone had been more in character than his brutality.

Perhaps he was afraid.  Afraid of what?  Of her?  That did not fit quite right.  Her identity as Wonder Woman was another possible threat to him.  Was he involved in criminal activity?  Could he be threatened because of her?

Diana looked at the clock.  _4 a.m_.  She had wasted enough time pondering his actions.  The man had kept her awake for a week.  She would have the truth and she would have it now.

She swung out of the bed with renewed vigor and removed the shift she wore when sleeping at the Watchtower.  She still did not quite trust Flash not to try and view her nudity.  She hastily donned her uniform, attaching the breastplate and girdle in place.  She pulled the band from her plait and quickly brushed out her hair before settling the crown of her rank on her brow.  Her boots slipped on easily, hugging her calves and providing her shins protection from blows.

She strode through the Watchtower with purpose in her step.  "I am leaving," she informed a startled Green Lantern as she passed the Monitor Womb.

"At 4 a.m.?" he called down the hall after her.  "You get a booty call or what?"

She set the controls on the teleporter for Gotham and moments later burst into being in the sky above the city.  She flew swiftly toward Wayne Manor, resolve firm in her breast.

*****

Bruce woke unexpectedly but kept his body relaxed and his eyes closed.  What had awakened him?  An imperious rapping at his balcony door answered that question.  _What the hell?_

He glanced at the clock.  It was just after four in the morning.  He'd watched the monitor feed when he got back to the Manor, ignoring his reaction to her brief nudity and telling himself he was just looking for injuries.  When he'd been satisfied that she was unharmed he'd switched off the feed and gone on patrol.  He'd been in bed a little over thirty minutes.  

He edged to the side of the glass door and caught a glimpse behind the heavy draperies.  _Oh hell.  Diana._  He cursed silently and swiftly moved across the room to grab a t-shirt and pajama bottoms.  The rapping came again as he was struggling with the silk pants, trying to figure out which was front and back.  Finally he just put the damn things on, figuring if he couldn't tell, she couldn't either.

He jerked the drapes open and stared at her through the glass door.  She was in full uniform, her hair blowing slightly in the night breeze. He slid the door open and stepped out onto the balcony.  The wood was cold against his bare feet.  He felt something stir in him at her solemn gaze.

"Wonder Woman," he said in a cool voice.  "It's, what, 4 o'clock in the morning?"

"Are you involved in criminal activities?" she asked calmly.

He blinked at the _non sequitor_.  "What?  No!" he said.  Well, not exactly.

"You are lying," she decided.  He stared at her.

"You came here at 4 o'clock in the morning to accuse me of being a criminal and then call me a liar?" he said, incredulous.  "Are you insane?"  His mind raced.  Why had she come?

"Those words you said last week.  What you did," she said.  Oh yeah.  He remembered.  Vividly.

_"I do not want this,"_ she had said.  He'd reminded himself of that a thousand times since then.  He used those words as a mantra to try and forget, but he could still taste her breath on his lips.  He could still see her body like marble in the moonlight.  He could still smell the spicy sandalwood scent of her hair.

He could still hear the rip as he tore her clothes.

"What can I say?  I wanted you."  It was God's honest truth.  He still wanted her.  "Why, have you changed your mind?" he asked with an attempt at a Bruce Wayne leer.  "I'm a bit short on sleep but I'm always up for the job."

"You purposefully did those things to drive me away.  You do it again now.  Why?" she persisted.  "Why would you do such a thing, unless something about my presence threatened you in some way?"  He could hear the hurt in her voice, but knew that hurt meant nothing to her right now.  Here on the balcony she was all Amazon, a huntress in pursuit of her prey.  He felt his blood rouse in response.__

Her blue eyes were shadowed by the night, but pierced him nonetheless.  He found his tongue tied, unable to lie outright.  For a moment he thought she had slipped the Lasso of Truth on him somehow, but it was still coiled at her hip.  He felt caught by the force of her will.  He felt her eyes stripping him layer by layer, seeking the truth.  _Goddess of Truth_.  He grit his teeth, fighting the strange desire to confide in her.  _No_.  Too many people knew already.  The list seemed to grow each decade.

He had made his choice when he joined the League.  Bruce Wayne and Batman must remain two separate entities.  Sometimes he thought that it was the only thing that kept him sane.  He stared into her eyes, feeling the urge pass safely and dissipate into the night sky.

He said nothing.

She looked at him a moment before turning away slightly, releasing him from her gaze.  She walked to the edge of the balcony and looked over the city.  

"I… like you, Bruce," she said softly, woman more than warrior for once.  "I like being with you.  I like talking to you.  These things have been absent from my life for a long time.  But I will not abide lies."  She stood straight and proud, moonlight edging her profile with a soft radiance.  

He managed to suppress the urge to reach out and feel the light where it touched her skin, but couldn't stop himself from moving to stand beside her.

"Are you a criminal?" she asked, turning to look him directly in the eye.  Her low-heeled boots made up the height difference between them.

"No," he said, relieved that he could tell her the honest truth.  He saw the relief in her eyes.  

"Tell me you do not wish my company," she said quietly, "and I shall leave and disturb you no longer."

He felt something loosen inside him as he resigned himself to what was inevitable.  He couldn't give her up.  Not yet.  Bruce Wayne was getting involved with Wonder Woman whether Batman liked it or not.

Bruce reached out and touched her arm, sliding his fingers down over the cold metal of her bracer and covered her hand with his own.

"I want you, Diana," he admitted to himself and her, "but it's a mistake, and I'm afraid it's going to cost us both in the end."

"A warrior does not turn from battle," she said with a quirk to her lips.

"Somehow I knew you'd say something like that," he murmured, giving in to the temptation to lean forward and brush her lips once with his.  They were surprisingly chilled beneath his own.  He'd always figured Diana didn't really feel the cold.

"It is late.  I should return to the Embassy," she said when he stepped back.  "I apologize for waking you in the middle of the night."

"I may wish you hadn't," he warned her.  "But I'm glad you did."

*****


	6. author note

(A brief note of thanks to those who are still adding this to their "watched lists". I don't have plans to continue this story at this time, although I intend to come back to it. I am currently working on something that could actually be published. The other project I am considering is an attempt to write a definitive origin novel for Wonder Woman.

I welcome comments and critiques of this story. It was casually written, but it was probably the springboard for the germ of an idea that I could actually do this for a living. Anything that I can learn from here is useful to me!

Sincerely,

Maggy)


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